The Viscount's Christmas Queen

(Christmas Kisses Book 2) Rose

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THE VISCOUNT’S CHRISTMAS
QUEEN: A REGENCY ROMANCE
CHRISTMAS KISSES (BOOK 2)
ROSE PEARSON
 CONTENTS

The Viscount’s Christmas Queen

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
My Dear Reader

A Sneak Peek of A Family for Christmas

Chapter One
Chapter Two

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THE VISCOUNT’S CHRISTMAS
QUEEN
 PROLOGUE

T hat was a very severe mishap. One that I cannot allow

myself to ever make again.
Lucius, the Earl of Northwick, winced as he shook his head to
himself, running one hand over his eyes before setting his elbow
down on the arm of the chair and dropping his head into it. He was
idle. In fact, he had been idle for some time, to the point that his
mind was currently thinking about all that had taken place during
the summer Season, rather than considering what he might do at
the present to entertain himself.
Another heavy sigh emitted from his lips as he dropped his head
back, looking up at the ceiling. Nothing seemed to give him any joy,
save for thinking on how excellent the summer had been. Rising
from his chair, he made his way across the drawing room, put both
hands on the windowsill, rounded his shoulders, and dropped his
head as a long breath escaped from him.
Outside, it was cold and grey, with sleet and snow beginning to
pelt the frozen ground. There was no color anywhere, it seemed,
nothing that would lift his spirits. The cold air reached out from
behind the glass toward him, its icy chill wrapping around his
shoulders and making him shudder.
The summer Season was nothing but a distant memory now, and
as Lucius considered that, yet another sigh broke from him. How
long would it be until he could go to London again? The summer
months always seemed to pass far too quickly, and the winter
months dragged out far too long. He could already feel the weight of
the grey dark days tying themselves around his neck, weighing him
down and tugging his spirits low.
“And I do not even have my own mother for company.”
Muttering to himself, Lucius drew in a long breath. His mother
had already written to him, stating she would be spending the winter
months – including her Christmas – with some dear friends. Lucius
was not invited to join them, and while he was glad his mother had
some close friendships, he did feel her absence all the same. There
came a loneliness with spending his time alone in the manor house
with only the servants for company. He could not even go riding
when the weather was so disastrous.
Closing his eyes, Lucius scowled to himself. This was the time of
year when everything seemed to move a good deal more slowly.
There were very few invitations, hardly any gatherings, and with the
weather as poor as it was at present, Lucius was trapped within his
own four walls. Yes, there was always some business to attend to
and he could certainly look at his plans for his crops for the spring
and the summertime… but none of it was as good as enjoying some
pleasant company.
Shoving both hands through his fair hair, Lucius made his way
back to his chair and slumped back down within it. Surely there was
something he could do to remove this dreariness from his soul? But
what was there to do when one was in the midst of the cold, dark
winter?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The summer Season had been an excellent one, albeit with the
odd difficulty here and there. He had been able to push that aside
easily enough and now his thoughts lingered on the joys and the
laughter, the music, and the conversation – only for his gaze to look
out at the view before him, reminding him of the bleak winter he
was now left with. He had considered going to London for the winter
Season but had decided against it. Winter in London was a very
different affair from the summertime in London. It held some
enjoyment, certainly, but it could not be compared to the summer
Season. There would be fewer of his acquaintances, fewer of his
close friends present, and everything would be very cold, grey, and
damp. Such things would not lift his spirits, although, now that he
let out yet another broken sigh, Lucius wondered silently if he had
made the wrong decision.
A scratch at the door alerted him to the presence of one of his
staff. Turning, he called for them to enter and the butler stepped
inside, inclining his head as he did so. A silver tray was in his hand
as he stopped just inside the room.
“My lord, you have a letter.”
Lucius pushed himself up in his chair, and allowed the faint
surprise in his chest to spread across his features. “A letter?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He blinked in surprise. It was not the time of year to receive
letters, for the winter was very cold and there had recently been a
great deal of snow on the ground. It was even snowing at this
present moment, was it not? Correspondence had become
infrequent for, in these last few weeks, Lucius had only received one
letter from his solicitors, another from his mother, and one final one
from his man of business, who was presently inspecting the Dower
house.
“Who is it from?”
The butler said nothing, and Lucius rolled his eyes to himself,
irritated at his own foolishness. Of course the butler would not know
– or if he did, he certainly would not admit it!
“I shall take it at once.” Getting to his feet, he crossed the room
as the butler came toward him also so that they met in the middle of
the room. Lucius caught the slight flash in the butler’s eyes, and his
irritation at his own behavior grew all the more. His staff did not
need to know that he had become a little melancholy of late.
With a wave of his hand to dismiss the butler, Lucius turned the
letter over quickly. Studying the seal for a few moments, his breath
hitched at the slight lift of anticipation that filled his chest. The letter
was from someone of great importance, for he was quite certain that
the seal was that of the Duke of Meyrick. Carefully, he unfolded the
letter, letting his gaze run down over the page.
 “Yes, I am correct!” Excitement flooded him as his gaze drifted
over the swirling letters from the Duke of Merrick. Yes, the
gentleman had written to him, which meant this must be an
invitation of some kind.
Murmuring the words aloud, Lucius read over the letter once,
twice, and then a third time as a broad smile broke across his
features, his heart tugging free of the melancholy that had held it for
so long. It seemed as though he was not to spend the winter on his
own without anyone for company! The Duke of Meyrick was to have
a house party – a prolonged one, it seemed – and Lucius was invited
to join the house party whenever he wished, if he was eager to
attend.
“Of course I am eager,” he murmured, closing his eyes for a
moment. “This is the most excellent news.”
Opening his eyes, Lucius crossed the room, filled a glass with a
good measure of brandy, and took a long sip. Warmth flooded him,
seeming to send life into his limbs and yet further joy into his heart
as he once more read the letter from the Duke. His anticipation
began to grow as he strode across the room to the door, flinging it
open wide so that he might hurry along the hallway, making his way
directly to the study.
“I am not to be disturbed.” Flinging his determined words to the
startled footman who stood guard by his study door, Lucius shut it
tightly and locked it for good measure. He did not want to be
interrupted while he wrote his letter of acceptance to the Duke.
It must be worded properly.
Setting the invitation down on his desk and placing the glass of
brandy alongside it, Lucius took a moment to sit down at the table
and consider what he might say. Pulling out a fresh sheet of paper,
he found his ink bottle and his quill and began to write.
It took him three attempts before he was happy with how he had
expressed himself. Reading it one final time, he sanded the letter
and then immediately folded it up. It took a few moments for his
wax and seal to be ready, but once they were completed, Lucius’
task was finished. Getting out of his chair, he strode across the room
and, after unlocking it, yanked open the door.
 “That must be sent at once. Without delay. At this very moment.
Do you understand?”
The footman started in surprise but took the letter from Lucius
with a murmur of understanding. He turned sharply and walked
hurriedly along the hallway as Lucius looked after him, his arms
folded across his chest and a broad grin now settling in his
expression – a smile he did not think would leave him for some time
yet.
“I am to go to the Duke of Meyrick’s house party.”
Even saying such a thing brought such a great joy to Lucius’
heart that he wanted to jump in the air and exclaim aloud. In an
instant, his winter had been turned from shadow to bright light. No
doubt there would be many of his acquaintances there, games,
dinners, and even dancing. Everything he had been missing was now
being presented to him – and he only had a week or so to wait.
All the more delighted, he turned back toward his study, pushing
the door closed behind him as he went in search of his brandy.
Taking another sip, he raised it in a toast as though the Duke of
Meyrick were there with him, able to see and appreciate the toast
that Lucius was offering him.
“May this be an excellent Christmas.” Lucius grinned to the empty
room, suddenly having a great appreciation for the crackling fire in
the grate and for the lightly falling snow outside. It did not matter to
him whether or not the snow was heavy or even if the roads were
considered dangerous. When the time came, he would make his way
to the Duke of Meyrick’s house one way or the other. Nothing would
prevent him, nothing would keep him back from attending the Duke
of Meyrick’s Christmas house party.
 CHAPTER ONE

L ucius took a long draught of his brandy and let out a

lengthy, contented sigh. “This is just what I need. I cannot
tell you how much I appreciate being here.”
His friend chuckled. “Christmas is not a difficult time for you, I
hope?”
Grinning, Lucius shook his head. “It is not now, certainly!” His
grin faded a little. “My previous plans were to stay in my own manor
house for the entirety of the winter season – including Christmas.”
“Your mother is not at home?”
Lucius shook his head. “No, she is not. She has chosen to take a
long visit with some close friends.”
“Ah.”
Shrugging, Lucius surveyed the room, his smile growing. “It was
somewhat difficult to accept spending so many weeks alone, but the
Duke’s invitation changed all of that.”
Lord Renforth chuckled. “I am sure it did! I am rather surprised
you arrived safely, I admit, for the roads were meant to be almost
impassible in some places.”
Lucius laughed wryly. “The journey here was most arduous.” He
rubbed one hand over his forehead, his smile dropping. “It is not
one I enjoyed, but it was certainly worth it.”
“I would be surprised if anyone enjoyed the journey here, I
suppose.” Lord Renforth grimaced. “My dear lady felt most unwell,
and it is so very difficult to stave off the chill, no matter how many
times we stopped for hot coals.”
“Yes, it is very cold indeed, but I am certain here we shall have
hearty fires and good cheer to warm both our bodies and our
spirits.” Lucius grinned, lifting his brandy in a toast to the Duke, who
stood opposite them, talking to another guest. “This is an excellent
idea to have such an extended house party. I think we shall be here
until after Twelfth Night!”
Lord Renforth chuckled. “I do hope the Duke of Meyrick has
enough good brandy for such a length of time!”
Shifting so he sat more comfortably in his chair, stretching out his
legs in front of him and crossing his legs at the ankle, Lord Renforth
let out a small sigh, looking rather pleased with the situation, and
Lucius could only smile, quite certain the man’s expression came
from just how truly contented he was at present. Lucius supposed
such a thing was to be expected and, no doubt, had a great deal to
do with his newly married circumstances.
“I would ask you how it is to be wed, but I can tell from your
expression it seems to be a very pleasant situation indeed.”
Lord Renforth grinned, his eyes seeming to light as he spoke of
his wife. “I have found myself in an excellent circumstance,” he
remarked softly. “Being wed to Lady Renforth is beyond my wildest
imaginations. I knew, of course, she was a very fine lady before we
wed, but I did not know how much of a gift she would be to me. I
find my breath taken from me by her almost every day for she is
wondrousness itself. She takes my burdens and eases them. She
takes my struggles and they become lighter. I confess quite openly I
find myself in love with the lady and, to my joy, she feels the very
same.”
Lucius’ eyebrows lifted towards the ceiling. “But you never once
thought to look for such an affection between you and your wife.”
“Which was all the more foolish of me.” Lord Renforth shook his
head. “It is a situation I would recommend, for both, both Lady
Renforth and I were well acquainted before our marriage, certainly,
but I see now there is more to an acquaintance than simply
friendship. I am certain a marriage can do well with just being
kindred spirits, but to be in love with one’s wife means a great deal
more,” he continued with a broad smile. “I would recommend such a
situation to you. Find yourself a young lady you can fall deeply in
love with, and thereafter, marry her. I am quite certain you will thank
me for it when the time comes.” Grinning, he picked up his brandy
glass and held it aloft as though he were congratulating himself. “In
time, you shall say to me, ‘Lord Renforth, I cannot thank you enough
for such kind observations as regards my present situation. I do not
think I would have ever been as happy without your knowledge.’ And
then I shall feel a great sense of achievement and pride and you
shall find yourself as happy as I. What do you think?”
Lucius lifted his glass and chinked it lightly against Lord
Renforth’s. “Perhaps you will be proven right,” he suggested with a
broad smile. “Although after the Season I have just endured, I
believe what you have encouraged for me to pursue is still a very
long way off.”
At this, his friend’s brows lifted high. “I had not heard.”
“No, I am sure you had not heard,” Lucius grinned. “After all, you
were quite taken up with your own happiness, were you not?” This
was said with a wink and a broad grin and immediately, Lord
Renforth began to laugh, passing one hand lightly over his forehead.
“Perhaps you are a little correct in such things.” Giving Lucius a
wry smile, he put out one hand in his direction. “I am eager to listen
to you now, however. Did something dreadful occur?” He chuckled
quietly. “And were you the cause of it?” A glint entered his eyes,
reminding Lucius of the gentleman he had once known; a gentleman
who had been more of a rogue than the settled, contented fellow he
was now. “Was it some dark deed you are now bearing the
consequences of?”
Lucius lifted his chin. “Neither, in fact,” he announced as his
friend rolled his eyes, making it quite plain he did not believe him.
“The truth is, I – ”
Words were stolen from him as his eyes landed on a young lady
who had, at that very moment, just entered the room with her
mother and younger sister. A younger sister who was only just out,
Lucius remembered. He could not seem to look away from her,
practically staring until her eyes finally reached his. The shock he
saw flaring within them filled his own heart also, for the last person
he had expected to see was Miss Jane Ainsley.
“Something is wrong.” His friend cleared his throat gruffly,
making Lucius jerk slightly. “Who is it you are staring at, and why?”
“I am not staring,” Lucius threw back quickly. “I am just a little
surprised, that is all.”
“Regardless of whether you are or are not staring, who is it you
are looking at?” Lord Renforth demanded to know. “And please, do
not pretend you are not looking in one specific direction! I know you
well enough to see through such a falsehood.”
The urge to repeat to his friend he had not been staring grew,
but Lucius swallowed it away. “Mayhap it is providential she should
appear at the very moment I am trying to tell you about what
happened this Season.” Muttering darkly under his breath, he settled
one hand on the arm of the chair, gripping it tightly and finding it
very difficult to look anywhere but her.
“Now I am all the more intrigued!”
Giving his friend a small smile, Lucius gestured to Miss Ainsley
with his chin. “I am afraid the reason my summer Season was a little
more difficult is standing over there - Miss Jane Ainsley.”
Lord Renforth’s eyes rounded as he looked over at the young
lady Lucius had indicated. “A young slip of a girl like Miss Ainsley has
caused you a great deal of trouble? I can hardly believe it!”
“She is not as small as you might think, for she is bold in terms
of her character. There is a severity of temper also I found a little
displeasing, I admit.”
Although, he silently considered, her temper had every right to
flare, given the situation.
Lord Renforth laughed. “I must say, I am very surprised indeed
to hear that the young Miss Ainsley has been the cause of your
distress.” Turning a little more towards Lucius, he smiled expectantly.
“Pray do tell me.”
Lucius shrugged both shoulders. “It was a mistake, only.”
Lord Renforth shook his head and chuckled, albeit a little more
darkly than before. “Understood. So it was your doing, after all?”
 Lucius took a breath. “It was,” he admitted quietly. “But it was a
mistake fairly made. Perhaps I ought to have been a little more
diligent before I began to pay attention to the younger sister, but –”
“The younger sister?” Lord Renforth started with such a loud
exclamation that a fierce heat began to burn in Lucius’ face. He
dropped his head, praying Miss Ainsley would not look over at him
and somehow be able to surmise what it was they were talking
about.
“A little more quietly if you please.”
Lord Renforth did not look happy. “You paid attention to the
younger sister – the debutante?” he asked again, his words making
the fire in Lucius’ face grow all the hotter. Wondering if he would be
able to keep any of his embarrassment to himself, Lucius shrugged.
“When I say I paid her attentions – or attempted to, at least. I
hope you understand it was not with any seriousness.”
Immediately Lord Renforth’s face fell and seeing the graveness of
his friend’s expression, Lucius immediately began to protest. “I
explained myself poorly. It is not what I meant.”
Lord Renforth scowled, shaking his head with his expression
adding weight to Lucius’ already guilty heart. “I would never have
gone near a debutante,” he stated, as though he were attempting to
protect his own honor despite the fact he had done nothing wrong.
“And in fact, I did not think you would do such a thing either.”
Nodding quickly, Lucius gestured towards his friend. “And be
assured, I did not, Lord Renforth.” Taking a breath, he tried to
explain himself, his words toppling over each other as his friend
waited expectantly. “As I have said, it was a complete
misunderstanding.” Lord Renforth’s expression grew heavier still, and
Lucius let out a groan of frustration.
“Whatever it is you are attempting to say, I do not yet
understand.” Lord Renforth sat a little further forward in his chair as
Lucius scowled, rubbing one hand over his eyes. “Why do you not
start from the beginning?”
Nodding, Lucius took in a breath, already disliking the sensation
such a memory was bringing him. “There was a masquerade,” he
began. “I was wearing a mask that did not hide a great deal of my
face – ”
“Deliberately so?”
The flush that ran up Lucius’ chest grew all the hotter. “Yes,
deliberately so,” he admitted, as Lord Renforth rolled his eyes. “I
wanted to be seen. I wanted people to know who I was.”
“I see.”
“And after a short while, I was approached by someone I
believed to be a rather… friendly lady.”
Lord Renforth nodded. “Yes, and…?”
Lucius cleared his throat. “Some words were whispered into my
ear by Lady Borthwick. Some particular… encouragements.” His
eyebrow lifted. “You know of what I am speaking, I think?”
A sudden smile crossed Lord Renforth’s face. “I believe every
gentleman in London knows exactly what it is you are speaking of
when it comes to Lady Borthwick.” The answer made Lucius chuckle,
relieved his friend was willing to listen to his explanations at least.
“She was wearing a pale green gown and had a butterfly domino
hiding her face. What she whispered into my ear could not be
ignored. I am certain any gentleman in his right mind would not
have been able to ignore it!”
Letting out a slow breath, Lord Renforth nodded his head in
understanding, although he said nothing, allowing Lucius to
continue.
“She bade me to come to her at a quieter part of the evening,
perhaps near to the end, when everyone had enjoyed themselves –
and imbibed a little more – so they might pay a little less attention
as to who was present and who was not.” Looking across the room
towards Miss Ainsley and her sister again, he let out a heavy breath.
“You can only imagine my mortification when I attempted to pull the
lady away against the wall, only for Miss Ainsley to accost me and
state I was laying hands on her sister!” Wincing, he shook his head.
“A young lady who was only on her first Season.”
Lord Renforth rolled his eyes and then let it out again with great
care, his shoulders and his expression dropping.
 “I understand you,” he remarked quietly. “In which case, I
withdraw my earlier judgment. That must have been very awkward
indeed.”
A dry laugh slipped from between Lucius’ teeth. “Awkward is not
the word I would consider using,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I
did try to explain myself to Miss Ainsley, but I confess she was
unwilling to listen to me.”
“Which I do not think you can hold against her, either,” Lord
Renforth remarked. “If Miss Bettina Ainsley had been my sister, I
believe I would have reacted with much the same sense of temper –
perhaps even more.”
Lucius grimaced. “It was a very confusing evening, I confess.
Once I had apologized profusely, extricated myself from Miss Ainsley,
and taken a breath, I thought to seek out Lady Borthwick, but I was
not able to find her again!” It had been to his disappointment that
such an offer was never given to him for the rest of the Season.
Perhaps, he considered, such an opportunity would not be offered
because Lady Borthwick believed he had rejected her – even though
he had never had a chance to explain.
“I am certain Miss Ainsley will have forgotten about the matter,”
Lord Renforth said with a smile. “And if she has not, then perhaps
the joy of the Christmas Season will push any dark or discounted
thoughts from her mind.”
Lucius opened his mouth to say he hoped so, only to notice the
very lady they had been speaking of had quickly begun to make her
way across the room towards them. Snapping his mouth shut, his
eyes darted to Lord Renforth and then back to the lady, rather
astonished she was appearing so direct.
“Good evening, Lord Northwick.” The lady bobbed a curtsy and
Lucius scrambled out of his chair, realizing he ought to have risen to
his feet already. Miss Ainsley had not changed since their last
meeting. Deep copper hair spilled from the back of her head, with a
few gentle curls framing her heart-shaped face. It was her green
eyes, however, that Lucius noticed the most. They were not warm
but cold, flickers of steel sparkling through them. She was obviously
just as displeased to see him as he was to see her.
 Glancing helplessly toward Lord Renforth, Lucius quickly grasped
the opportunity to find something to say rather than stand silently
and stupefied. “Might I introduce the Marquess of Renforth?” he said
quickly. “Lord Renforth, this is Miss Ainsley, daughter to Viscount
Wilkinson.”
Lord Renforth, who had risen at the same time as Lucius, bowed
politely and quickly made some small conversation with the lady,
which allowed Lucius to get his thoughts together. Ought he
apologize once more for what had taken place? Or should he say
nothing about what had happened during the summer Season?
“My father is well acquainted with the Duke of Meyrick. We were
very delighted to be offered such an invitation.” Finishing her answer
to Lord Renforth’s question, Miss Ainsley turned her attention back
to Lucius. With a slight lift of her chin, she arched one eyebrow. “My
younger sister is present also. I do hope you will recall my statement
that you remain away from her.”
Lucius inclined his head, aware of the tension growing in his
stomach. “You can be assured I have no intention of coming
anywhere near either yourself or your sister,” he said with a small,
wry smile, seeing how her cheeks colored as he included her in such
a statement. “I would attempt to remind you again: it was nothing
more than a misunderstanding, but I think given your present
expression such an endeavor would prove to be fruitless.”
Miss Ainsley curled her lip. “A very fruitless one indeed, Lord
Northwick, since I have no belief whatsoever in a single word you
say. You are well known to be something of a rogue. You may
protest you believed my sister to be someone else, but such a
statement does not mean I have to believe it.” Raising her chin even
higher, she flashed them both a sharp look before turning on her
heel. Not another word was spoken, and Lucius could only watch,
his hand tightly curled around his glass as she walked away.
“I do not think she likes you,” Lord Renforth considered, tilting
his head in Lucius’ direction. “In fact, I would say Miss Ainsley is
more than eager to stay away from you.”
Lucius let out a long sigh, disliking his friend’s teasing manner.
“Yes, Renforth, I am well aware of her feelings, given how obvious
they are.”
Lord Renforth grinned, seemingly finding mirth in this rather
awkward situation. “Will you do as she asks? Will you stay away
from the young lady?”
Shrugging, Lucius spread his hands. “Of course, I shall,” he
stated plainly. “That will be no difficulty at all.”
 CHAPTER TWO

“I t really is most frustrating.” Jane stalked across the

floor, flinging her gloves from her hands to her bed.
“Why should he be here?”
Her sister smiled gently as she sat down on one of the chairs by
the roaring fire on the other side of their bedchamber. “Because the
Duke of Meyrick is allowed to invite whomever he likes to his house
party, my dear sister,” came the reply. “I am aware you are
frustrated to see Lord Northwick present, but nothing can be done
about his presence here. We must try and enjoy ourselves,
regardless.”
Sighing heavily, Jane rolled her eyes to herself and then shook
her head, refusing to sit down in the chair opposite her sister. She
was much too frustrated to relax.
“I think Lord Northwick a most disagreeable fellow – and he has
a reputation for being a rogue! A gentleman such as he should not
be present at a Duke’s house party. I think it… unfitting.” Wincing
inwardly at her overeager statement, she resumed her pacing.
Bettina shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh as Jane stopped
in her walking up and down the room, turning to look at her sister, a
little surprised at her reaction. “Do you not think this a serious
matter then? I was already quite vigilant in defending you from him
before.”
“As he has said – repeatedly, I believe – it was nothing more
than a misunderstanding,” Bettina replied quietly. “My dear sister,
you do take this far too seriously. I am not at all as upset as you
appear to be, yet I was the one who was almost wronged.”
Jane placed her hands on her hips. “Be that as it may, a
gentleman with the reputation of Lord Northwick is not a suitable
gentleman for a house party such as this, not when there are so
very many eligible young ladies present. What happens if he should
try to shower his attentions upon one of them when they do not
wish it?”
Her sister pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head
gently. Jane dropped her shoulders as her hands fell to her sides,
afraid she was becoming a little too dramatic, but the concern she
had felt for her younger sister had been insurmountable, still
flashing through her despite the fact the London Season was, by
now, some months ago back.
“I think you are being a little too unfair to Lord Northwick.”
Jane said nothing, blowing air out through her nose as she
waited for her sister to explain further.
“Lord Northwick thought I was someone else,” Bettina continued
quietly, although her gaze was steady and firm. “I do not think he
had any thoughts towards garnering affections from a young lady
such as myself. You did not tell me which lady it was he was
expecting to pull away into the shadows, but I am sure she was no
debutante! In fact, I think the reason you have not told me her
name is because you do not wish me to know about her.” Her smile
grew. “Might I be correct?”
Jane turned her head away, refusing to speak to her sister any
longer about the matter. The truth was, of course, she was resisting
the urge to tell her sister all about Lady Borthwick, precisely because
the lady was so well known amongst London society that it would be
impossible to keep any of the rumors about her character and her
particular acquaintances away from Bettina’s ears. The less her sister
knew about the darker sides of society, the better.
“Jane?”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “I am your elder sister. It is
my job, therefore, to protect you as best I can.”
 “Which you know I appreciate, but I am afraid you cannot
protect me from everything,” her sister replied. “You cannot protect
me, for example, from knowing about Lady Borthwick! I know she is
a widowed lady who is eager for the company of gentlemen. I have
heard she looks through all of society, decides which gentlemen she
wants for herself, and then begins to make her attempts. I am also
well aware that the gentleman of society know of this reputation she
carries and are eager to make her one of their own conquests.”
Jane’s eyes flared, but Bettina only laughed aloud at her horrified
look. “Come now, Jane,” she finished, settling her hands in her lap.
“You must realize I am not about to be kept from everything. I may
only have had my debut in the summer, but I was thrust into the
middle of London society and therefore know almost everything
there is to know – dark or otherwise, pleasant or distasteful. I am
afraid I have a good many friends who are eager to tell me
everything I wish – and even do not wish – to know.”
Jane’s shoulders dropped, her spirits sinking. With a heavy sigh,
she gave up her pacing, coming to sit opposite her sister instead. “I
see.” She shook her head. “You think me ridiculous, perhaps, for
attempting to keep you from such objectionable things when I
myself have only just had my second Season.” Her wry expression
seemed to make her sister laugh again, although Jane found nothing
mirthful in the entire situation.
“I do not think you foolish. I think you kind.”
Reaching across and bending forward in her chair, Bettina
pressed Jane’s hand. “But I would ask you not to be too harsh in
your demeanor when it comes to Lord Northwick. You have always
been quite determined to believe he did such a thing purposefully,
that he ought to have known better or have been much more
careful.” A sigh left her as she looked directly back at Jane, her
hands returning to clasp together in her lap as she sat back in her
chair. “I will not pretend the latter is not true. Yes, he should have
been a good deal more careful. He was not and, because of his
carelessness, a mistake was made.”
“A severe mistake.”
 Hearing the darkness in her voice and aware she might sound as
though she were scolding Bettina, Jane looked away just as her
sister sighed gently. It took some moments for Jane to be willing to
speak, but when she did, her voice was heavy. “Very well, you may
be right. I am holding something of a grudge against Lord
Northwick. He may have given us excuses, but I do not believe
them. I know you do but I simply cannot. Lord Northwick is known
to be something of a rogue – although not a bad one, of course.”
Bettina held out both hands to her sides. “I cannot really believe
a gentleman such as he would deliberately tug a debutante away
from her mother and sister in the middle of a masquerade ball. A
gentleman who, I might add, I was not even introduced to! That
would be foolishness itself, my dear sister, for he could have severely
damaged his reputation, even if he is considered something of a
rogue. There would have been a scandal if he had been caught. I
think if you were to consider matters a little more, you might realize
he is speaking the truth.” Lifting her shoulders, she shrugged. “He
thought I was someone else. There is nothing more to it.”
Taking a deep breath. Jane considered this for some minutes.
They had barely spoken of Lord Northwick since the unfortunate
evening in London- and for good reason. There had been much else
to discuss, including the gentlemen who had shown an interest in
both Bettina and some also showing an interest in Jane herself.
There was no immediate concern, however, over Jane’s lack of
courtship – not as yet. Come next Season, she would have to find a
match. But whether or not such a thing would happen, she could not
say, although she desperately wished for it to be so. To be invited to
the Duke’s house party, however, was a boon for her, and as she
considered this, Jane silently began to realize she should not allow
Lord Northwick’s presence to damage this opportunity.
“You are right.” Admitting such a thing was not at all painful,
although Bettina’s eyebrows lifted in evident surprise. “We should
not judge him too harshly. If he did make such a mistake, then it
was foolish indeed. But if he speaks the truth, then we – or, in fact, I
– need to have no concern over his behavior towards you, or what
may occur at this house party.”
 Bettina’s eyebrows remained lifted. “Good gracious. I do hope
you have had no concerns about my behavior! I have no intention of
going anywhere near him, if that is what you are worried about.”
Catching the slight flicker of concern in her sister’s eyes, Jane was
quick to reassure her.
“No, I do not consider myself at all worried about you,” she
answered quickly. “In fact, I would not recommend going to speak
with Lord Northwick – for I myself had to do so and found it to be
very awkward indeed!”
Bettina laughed, her green eyes – so similar to Jane’s – sparkling.
“I understand.” With a wry smile, she lifted both shoulders gently.
“Then let us both be genteel and polite towards him, but certainly
not overly friendly,” she continued as Jane nodded her agreement.
“It will be for the best… for all of us.”

“D id you hear ?” Jane and her sister sat with the other ladies in the
drawing room, having finished what had been a magnificent dinner.
Tea had been served,and they were all enjoying a pleasant cup as
they waited for the gentlemen to join them. “There is to be a bullet
cake one evening!”
“A bullet cake?” Jane repeated, her stomach immediately
dropping low. “Goodness, I do not think I should want to take part in
such a game.”
“Oh, but you must!” Bettina exclaimed at once. “My dear sister,
we are at the Duke’s Christmas house party! It is meant to be
exciting – but what fun are we to have if you do not take part in any
of the games?”
Jane bit her lip, seeing what her sister meant, but finding herself
struggling with the idea, nonetheless. She did not want to take part
in a bullet cake, for then she might find herself with a face full of
flour, and to appear so would be most embarrassing indeed.
The door opened and the gentlemen walked in before they could
say anything further about such a game, and Jane was left to
consider exactly what games were to be played this particular
evening, wondering if she might find a way to excuse herself without
her appearing to be either miserable or rude.
“We are to play a game this evening!” Lady Meyrick clapped her
hands, catching everyone’s attention as the gentlemen all found a
seat. Some had very broad smiles on their faces, which, no doubt,
was an effect of the port they had enjoyed after dinner.
“It is a very simple game.” Lady Meyrick continued. “I am sure
we shall all enjoy it since there are so many of us!”
Reminding herself not to be too serious about such things, Jane
took in a breath and settled back into her chair a little. It would be
foolish of her to give an impression of a severe aversion to such
things, for if one could not have fun at the Christmas party, then
when could one?
“I will explain the rules.” The Duke of Meyrick rose to his feet and
began to tell them all what would occur – and Jane realized just how
simple a game it truly was. One person would be blindfolded while
another was sent outside the room. Everyone remaining would move
about to a different place within the room, with some hiding in the
shadows or standing in awkward places to make it more difficult.
Thereafter, the person blindfolded would be unmasked and given
three opportunities to state which person was absent. The guesses
had to be offered with some haste, for if anyone should take too
long, then they would have to take a forfeit, regardless! Should they
manage to guess correctly, then the person standing outside of the
room would be the one blindfolded. If they did not guess correctly,
however, then a forfeit would be undertaken.
“A forfeit?” her sister whispered, as Jane winced. “Does she
mean….?”
As Lady Meyrick gestured to the fire, which was still burning
merrily, Jane let out a small sigh. “Some coal will be taken from it, or
some ash from the grate beneath. It will be used to smudge the
faces of those who had guessed incorrectly.”
Bettina took in a breath. “Goodness.”
“Although it may be you wish to offer another forfeit,” Lady
Meyrick finished with a wiggle of her eyebrows, which made some
gentleman chortle and many a young lady blush. Jane looked away,
finding it very difficult indeed to look at anyone in particular, afraid
they would see the color in her face. What was it she would take if
she were offered the choice to pick between the two? Would she
offer some trinket to a gentleman, knowing he would have every
right to ask her for whatever he wished when he returned it to her?
Or would she have her face blackened with coal dust instead? Jane
simply could not determine which one was more preferable. Her
fingers twisted together in her lap, tension billowing like a sail.
Perhaps she would neither be chosen nor would fail, in which case
no forfeit would be required of her. Such an outcome was the only
one that would bring her any relief.
“Now you must look around the room.” Lady Meyrick continued
as the game began. “See how there are many little shadowy places,
many corners and things which you might wish to hide behind, so
long as you are still able to be seen by the person who is blindfolded
when the time comes, then all will be well. You may hide some of
yourself, but not all of yourself, if you understand my meaning!”
“I believe we all fully understand.” Lord Stone chuckled, making
some in the room laugh. “Shall I be the first to step forward and
take part? I assume you have the blindfold, Lady Meyrick?”
Everyone else in the room clapped and laughed as the game
began, but Jane could only feel a sense of dread beginning to flood
her. She would much prefer a game where there were no forfeits at
all, where they might play with graciousness and calmness rather
than these frankly overt exchanges. One glance at her sister told her,
however, she was the only one who felt this way, for almost
everybody else in the room had either a broad smile on their face or
light in their eyes, showing they appeared to be enjoying every
moment. With a deep breath, Jane closed her eyes for a moment,
telling herself she had to find a little merriment somewhere within
herself. She was not that way inclined, of course, being a good deal
more studious and sensible than her sister, but perhaps this house
party was a time and an opportunity for her to shake it off a little, to
embrace the laughter and the Christmas time. Regardless, she was
not entirely convinced she would enjoy it.
 CHAPTER THREE

“I do confess I am finding this game a little tedious.”

Whether or not Lady Meyrick overheard his
muttered remark to Lord Stone, Lucius did not know,
but at that very moment, she whirled around and pointed one finger
at him.
“This time we shall have two absent from the room!” she
exclaimed, bringing a murmur from some of the other guests. “So
you see, Lord Winchester, you shall have to recall two people rather
than one.”
“I confess it seems a little unfair.” Lord Winchester folded his
arms across his chest and grinned, despite his covered eyes, making
everyone laugh. “But very well, I shall do as you have bade me,
since you are the lady of the house.”
Lucius dutifully made his way as quietly as he could to step out
of the room, pushing the door soundlessly. Leaning against the wall,
he let out a long and heavy sigh. To him, certainly, he had been
playing this game for far too long. His sigh snaked down the hallway
as he closed his eyes. Whatever other entertainment Lady Meyrick
or the Duke himself had planned, Lucius hoped it would come very
soon…. or that they would play some other game entirely.
“Perhaps I am just in a disagreeable mood, given I have not
been able to gain a forfeit from anyone,” he muttered, a little darkly.
Forfeits were the best part of Christmas parties, for they meant
trinkets and trinkets meant kisses, and he could easily be cheered by
a swift press of a young lady’s lips against his! Thus far, however, he
had not been able to gain even a single one.
The door opened again, but Lucius did not even turn his head,
such was his mood. It was only when a soft exclamation left the
lady’s lips that he finally looked over, quickly then pushing himself
away from the wall as he realized he stood in the presence of Miss
Ainsley.
“I can assure you, this was not done purposefully,” he said
quickly, only for Miss Ainsley to send him one short, quick glance.
“Of course it was not done purposefully.” Turning a little away
from him, Miss Ainsley folded her arms across her chest. “Lady
Meyrick has now decided to choose two people per turn and given
both you and I have not yet had opportunity to step out of the
room, I can see it was done purely by chance.” She did not say
another word, although Lucius did note the slight color in her
cheeks. Becoming a little frustrated himself at the sharpness she had
used in speaking with him, he found himself moving closer to her,
suddenly speaking in a harsher tone.
“I am aware we have already spoken, Miss Ainsley, but I should
like to know when this particular coldness you push towards me will
be at an end. Are we to be like this for the entirety of the house
party, or might we, at the very least, attempt to be amiable?” The
moment his words died away, Lucius winced. He had not spoken
well, he realized. He had been a little too harsh rather than being
calm and gentle in his words. But then again, he reasoned silently,
Miss Ainsley had shown him no such kindness.
“I think I have good reason for behaving as I do, Lord
Northwick,” Miss Ainsley told him, her arms still folded tight and her
eyes still fixed on his. “My sister has also attempted to tell me it was
nothing more than a misunderstanding, but I myself I am not sure.
You are known to be a bit of a rogue. You say you would not have
touched a debutante, but again, I cannot trust your words to be
true.”
“That may be, but there are things you could do to prove to
yourself what I say is true.” Finding himself suddenly rather eager
for Miss Ainsley to see the truth of his words, Lucius came a little
closer to her. “You might speak to some of my friends who are
present here at this house party – Lord Renforth, for example, will
promise you I am not a gentleman who would ever go near a
debutante. Perhaps such a thing will be enough to convince you I
am not the fellow you think me.”
Miss Ainsley hesitated, bit her lip, and then, much to Lucius’
surprise, dropped her hands to her side, shook her head, and let out
a heavy sigh. It took some moments for her to explain herself,
however, and Lucius simply stood there, watching her change in
expression.
“I am sorry.”
Lucius’ eyes flared in surprise, and he found himself moving back
a little, inwardly realizing just how intimidating he might have
appeared in standing so close, particularly when they were alone.
“I should not be holding a grudge.” This was said with a tight
smile and eyes that flicked in his direction before quickly traveling
away again. “You say it was a mistake – a misunderstanding. I
confess I am not inclined to believe you, but it does not mean I
should continue to treat you in this cold and somewhat
condescending manner.” With a small shrug, she looked away. “We
will not be friends, Lord Northwick, not by any means, but I can at
least be a little more… civil.” Taking another breath, she let it out
slowly. “From this moment on, I intend to do so.”
Such an admission gave Lucius a chance to see the young lady
as he had never seen her before. He allowed himself to look at her
for a little longer than he might otherwise have permitted himself,
taking her in, seeing just how her expression changed, her
demeanor altered. Now, however, she did not appear to be so
resistant to his company, something changed within him also as he
looked into her face, their eyes meeting and melding for a few long
moments. Blinking rapidly. Lucius shook his head, and opened his
mouth to say something more – just as the door was flung open and
Lady Meyrick beckoned them both back inside.
“Lord Winchester has only guessed one of you correctly.” Her
smile grew as she looked toward Miss Ainsley. “You are quite safe,
dear lady.” With a laugh, she turned back towards Lucius, who found
himself groaning gently, his shoulders dropping as he attempted to
smile. “Alas, you, Lord Northwick, do not have such luck! It is now
your turn to be blindfolded.”
Lucius nodded, albeit rather unwillingly. “Very well,” he agreed,
throwing a quick glance towards Miss Ainsley. She, however, had
already turned her head away and was making her way back
towards the door without giving him so much as a backward glance.
For whatever reason, Lucius found her seeming lack of interest
incredibly frustrating but there was no time to linger on such feelings
for he was then swiftly taken back into the drawing room. Led by
Lady Meyrick, who then proceeded to blindfold him as the room was
filled with giggles and laughter, Lucius merely stood there,
concentrating on the sound of his breath rather than on the joviality
around him. For whatever reason, his mind was fixed not on the
game but solely Miss Ainsley. Even when the blindfold was taken off,
he could see none but her. She was sitting quietly on one of the
couches, looking back at him as though she wanted him to see how
obvious she was and did not want his gaze to linger. Lucius set his
jaw as he forced his gaze elsewhere, but he could not seem to
concentrate on any of the other faces he saw. No doubt Miss
Ainsley’s frustrating behavior was the reason for him being unable to
forget about her. There were a few giggles and plenty of laughter,
but Lucius himself did not so much as break into a smile. Eventually
he guessed one name and then a second, without having any real
idea about whether or not these people were present in the room.
Even though it was entirely foolish of him to do so, he named Miss
Ainsley as his third guess, all the while looking directly back at her. It
was as though something within him wanted to speak her name
aloud.
At this, Lady Meyrick laughed merrily and set one hand on his
shoulder. “You are quite correct, Lord Northwick!”
Blinking in surprise, Lucius turned his head around, not certain as
to what Lady Meyrick meant. Miss Ainsley was present. She was
sitting on the coach directly opposite him. What, then, could Lady
Meyrick mean?
 With a flash of recognition, Lucius’ eyes flared – just as Lady
Meyrick spoke.
“You may come in now, Miss Ainsley.”
It was not the elder Miss Ainsley who was absent, but rather the
younger. His face flushed as he glanced towards the elder Miss
Ainsley, seeing her eyes narrow slightly. What could he say? Yet
again, this was nothing more than another coincidence, something
which had happened without his intention or knowledge. And yet
now, the younger Miss Ainsley would have to give him one of her
trinkets by way of a forfeit – and Lucius could see in the elder Miss
Ainsley’s eyes just how it upset her.
“Alas, Miss Ainsley, you have been discovered.” Lady Meyrick
laughed, shaking her head. “I am afraid when one has such beauty
as you do, it is almost impossible for the gentlemen in this room to
forget you.” Beckoning the young lady forward, Lady Meyrick
chuckled again. “I am afraid she must offer Lord Northwick a forfeit.
You have a choice now, Miss Ainsley! Either you offer Lord Northwick
a trinket and, in time, he can come to take your forfeit, or shall you
have your face smudged with dust?”
Feeling vastly uncomfortable, Lucius glanced from one Miss
Ainsley to the other. Everyone else appeared to be enjoying the
moment as much as they had done with the other gentlemen and
ladies who are required to pay a forfeit, but this situation unsettled
him greatly. Mayhap, he considered, it came from the fact the elder
Miss Ainsley was continuing to glare at him as though he had done
such a thing intentionally.
“I offer you a forfeit.” Miss Ainsley pulled something from her
reticule and handed it to him with a smile – a smile Lucius did not
return. He took it from the young lady, and thereafter, turned quickly
back towards his seat, dragging his gaze away from Miss Ainsley.
The game continued as Lucius merely sat forward in his seat, his
hands twirling the small silver hairpin Miss Bettina Ainsley had given
to him. The fact he had previously been a little upset over gaining
not even a single forfeit now seemed incredibly foolish, and Lucius
found himself wishing he had never yearned for such a thing…. or
that the forfeit had been from anyone other than Miss Bettina
Ainsley.
“Although I am just as relieved I did not take it from Miss Jane
Ainsley.” Muttering to himself, a small smile touched his lips. He
would return the trinket it Miss Bettina Ainsley with only a small
forfeit required – perhaps a kiss to the back of her hand or some
other small gesture – and perhaps also in the presence of Miss Jane
Ainsley. In doing it in such a way, then neither of them could
complain for, firstly, he would have done as he ought, and secondly,
he would not have done too much. Hopefully, it would bring the
matter to an end and Miss Jane Ainsley would stop throwing daggers
directly at him in her gaze. Averting his gaze, Lucius considered for a
moment. Mayhap he might have to consider stepping aside from any
game where the younger Miss Ainsley was to be a part of his group
for he could not permit such a thing to happen again! Allowing his
gaze to flick to Miss Jane Ainsley’s face once more, he caught the
narrowing of her gaze and, with a sigh, averted his gaze entirely.
Things were not about to become any simpler between him and
the two sisters, no matter how much he wished it.

I t was some time after the ladies retired that Lucius found himself
fatigued enough to make his way to bed. The evening had, on the
whole, been a pleasant one, albeit filled with the ongoing, fierce
glances Miss Ainsley had sent him! The younger sister, however, had
not appeared to be at all upset by what had occurred, clearly
accepting it to all be part of the game – and, in fact, had smiled at
him when he had looked over at her. Lucius considered she was a
rather pleasant young woman and, in comparing her to her elder
sister, found Miss Jane Ainsley severely lacking. Why could she not
see it had been a mistake the night of the masquerade ball? Why
was she so determined to think ill of him? What he had said by way
of explanation was the truth. Why did she feel the need to pore over
his words and search his expression? Wandering towards his room,
Lucius found his thoughts holding fast to Miss Jane Ainsley, and it
was with a great effort he turned them elsewhere.
So far, he was enjoying the house party on the whole,
appreciating the opportunity to get to know some new
acquaintances as well as deepen friendships with current
acquaintances. This was one of the longest house parties he had
ever attended, for it would take them right through Christmas and
into the early days of January. However, he was rather pleased to be
doing so, for the fact was Lucius would have otherwise been entirely
alone. Yes, he had a brother, for what esteemed family did not have
an heir and a spare? But his brother was gone to the continent,
inspecting their late father’s holdings and Lucius did not expect him
back for another twelve months and with his mother visiting friends,
there was no one else for Lucius to spend such a time as this with.
Thus, when the invitation had come, he had accepted it almost at
the very same moment he had received it, writing a letter
immediately and sending it back without a second of hesitation. He
had accepted the Duke’s invitation with warmest regards, he
recalled. Thus, just because Miss Ainsley was present, did not mean
he had to find it in any way displeasing.
With a sigh that told him he knew all too well he was thinking of
Miss Jane Ainsley yet again, Lucius reached his bedchamber, opened
the door, and stepped inside. The room was warm, for a fire had
been kept lit for him – there was nothing to be spared for the
guests, it seemed – and he was sure there would have been a
warming pan filled with hot charcoal and ashes run around under
the covers until just a few moments before he had arrived. Given the
lateness of the hour, he had informed his valet he would put himself
to bed and did not require his services further but now that it came
to it, Lucius found himself a little irritated he had done so, for he
could easily have used the fellow’s help, given how fatigued he was.
He stopped suddenly. There was something placed upon his
dressing table – a small folded note, tied with a ribbon. He looked at
it for a long moment before he continued to approach, as though it
might jump out to frighten him in some way. Something ran through
his frame, flooding him with concern over what such a note could
be. To be sealed with a ribbon, to his mind, meant it had been
written by the hand of a lady. Starting forward, Lucius reached for
the note, letting the ribbon fall away as he held it up. A gentle hint
of lavender came towards him and immediately, something twisted
in his gut. He had no doubt now that someone had written him a
letter – and that someone was certainly a lady.
Aware his reputation had a touch of the rogue about it, Lucius
unfolded the note quickly and let his eyes fall upon the few lines.
‘I have been watching you, Lord Northwick. You are the most
handsome of gentlemen. I hope we might further our acquaintance
to a fresh warmth during this house party. Yours.’
Nothing more was said in the note, nothing to tell him who had
written it, and yet excitement poured into him, which quickly roared
into a flaming fire. Taking the note, he sat down on the bed once
more, silently thinking over each and every lady present at the
house party. One of them had written to him. One of them had to
set their expectations upon him, although what exactly it was they
were looking for he could not say. Throwing one hand over his eyes,
Lucius began again, murmuring each lady’s name as he went. It
seemed very strange to him once he reached the end, for many of
them were debutantes or as yet unwed young ladies present with
their parents and surely would not dare do such a thing, whereas
everyone else was either engaged or wed.
“I am not so much a rogue as that,” he stated aloud to himself.
Whoever this was, they must not be fully aware of his reputation.
Yes, there was a hint of the rogue in him, but he never once dallied
with a debutante or with a married lady. A kiss stolen here or there,
a gentle glance, some teasing and flirtation was all he would ever do
– and only with those he deemed suitable.
Shaking his head, he folded up the note again and then rose at
his feet, wandering towards the fire. Hesitating, he held it above the
flames, thinking to himself he would throw it in there and allow it to
be burnt to ash.
After a moment, however, he folded it up again and, walking
across the room, placed it in the top drawer of his dresser. A scent of
lavender lingered there for a few moments more, but Lucius refused
to allow his mind to contemplate the question of who had sent it any
longer. Instead, he began to prepare himself for bed, quite eager
now to lose himself in the unconsciousness of sleep. Such questions
could wait until the morrow.
 CHAPTER FOUR

“M y dear Miss Ainsley, I am very pleased to see you

this morning. You are as early as I am, I think.”
Jane nodded quickly, aware of the gentle
grumbling in her stomach. “I am not one inclined to linger in bed.”
She smiled at Lady Farquhar, who inclined her head back in return,
as though agreeing with her.
The truth was, Jane had struggled to stay asleep, given that her
mind had been filled with none other than Lord Northwick. She had
been telling herself repeatedly that what he had done in taking a
forfeit from her sister could have not been planned in any way. Yet
part of her wanted to believe that somehow he had used Lady
Meyrick to gain access to her sister. For now, Bettina had been
forced to give Lord Northwick a trinket, and the trinket could be
used to gain anything from a dance to a kiss. What was it he had
wanted? To show Jane he could get whatever he wished from
whomever he wished, regardless of her attempts to stop him? She
had not said anything to her sister, of course, for no doubt, Bettina
would roll her eyes and tell her she was being quite ridiculous, which
Jane was, truthfully, beginning to believe. But for whatever reason,
the smile on Lord Northwick’s face when he had taken Bettina’s hair
pin was one she had not been able to remove from her mind, and
thus, she had found herself awake much too early…. to her own
frustration also.
 “I did hear Lady Borthwick arrived late last evening. Are you
acquainted with her?”
Jane’s stomach clenched immediately at the sound of Lady
Borthwick’s name. That was the lady Lord Northwick had supposedly
been seeking out on the night of the masquerade ball, when he had
grabbed her sister instead.
“No, I confess I am not.” Silently praying that someone else
would soon come to join them at the dining table, she chose some
items from the breakfast table for her plate. “I know very little of
her, in fact.”
“Well, I am sure you will become acquainted with her very soon.
She is to join us for breakfast, so long as she is not too fatigued
from her journey.” Lady Farquhar smiled, her eyes drifting towards
the door at the other end of the room as though she expected Lady
Borthwick to step in at any moment. “She and I have been great
friends for many a year. Her situation is so very sad. She lost her
husband only a few years after they wed.”
“Does she have any children?”
Lady Farquhar beamed. “Oh yes, she does. She gave her
husband the heir before he so tragically died. A lovely boy, I must
say. Of course, he is at Eton now.”
“His presence must be some comfort at least.” Giving the lady a
small smile, Jane silently prayed the conversation would be brought
to an end as quickly as it could, so she might think of something
other than Lady Borthwick. It was clear Lady Borthwick was now
able to live in comfort and contentment, given the fact her son was
now the new Lord Borthwick. It also meant she could have as many
close companions as she wished, but without any specific
requirement for her to wed. The more she thought of it, the less
Jane wanted to continue the conversation. Much to her relief, the
door opened. She looked up eagerly, believing her prayers were
answered, only for her hopes to immediately sink back down. With
what was a small, slightly uncomfortable looking smile and eyes
darted about the room rather than linger on either on her or Lady
Farquhar’s face, Lord Northwick came to join them.
 “Good morning.” His throat was a little gruff as he inclined his
head. Fair hair fell forward across his forehead only to be swept
back, his angular face a little sharper with a tight expression rather
than a smile. His hazel eyes were dark as he glanced around the
room, lingering on Jane for only a moment.
“Good morning!” Lady Farquhar exclaimed with great enthusiasm
as Jane murmured something vague thereafter. “The rest of our
company are, I fear, still abed. I do not think we will have their
company for some time yet.” She sounded quite delighted that the
three of them should be alone together, whereas Jane found herself
wincing at the idea.
Lord Northwick returned Lady Farquhar’s smile, but it cleared
shortly thereafter. “I do hope you both slept well?”
Jane gave him a small nod, choosing not to say anything while,
thankfully, Lady Farquhar appeared quite eager to have the
conversation all to herself. She was speaking at great length about
the difficulties she had in sleep in her later years and warned Jane
directly about these things, stating they would come upon her at
some point in her life. She then went on to narrate the plethora of
remedies she had tried – although not all of them were considered
helpful. All in all, she spoke without stopping for some minutes and
Jane found herself willing her to continue on even a little more.
The door opened again, and as Jane took a bite of toast, her
eyes caught a lady stepping through the door. It was someone she
had never seen before, for as yet, she had not been present at the
Duke’s house party. It took her only a moment of clarity to realize
this must be none other than Lady Borthwick – and with a quick
breath, her gaze immediately went to Lord Northwick.
“Ah, good morning! We have been waiting for your arrival.”
It came as no surprise to Jane that Lady Farquhar was instantly
ready with her greeting. Jane nodded her welcome, just as Lord
Northwick’s head swiveled to his right. He seemed to start with
surprise, his fingers clutching the edge of the table, only for him to
rise swiftly as he turned towards the lady.
“I did not realize you would be present, Lady Borthwick,” Lord
Northwick murmured, as Lady Borthwick directed her smile toward
him.
“I was very glad to be invited.” Approaching the table, Lady
Borthwick drew closer to Lord Northwick. “My son is gone to his
uncle’s for the festive season.” A small sigh escaped her as her smile
began to fall away. “It is the one thing my late husband’s brother
insists on, and I do not have the heart to refuse. My son does so
very much love his uncle and I am aware that the connection is
good for the both of them. Nonetheless, I find that I am a little
lonely without him, for the older he becomes, the less time I have to
spend with him!” A small sigh escaped her. “It is for his good, I
suppose.”
Lady Farquhar immediately held out the hand towards Lady
Borthwick, and after a moment she took it, with a slight glistening
about her clear blue eyes. Jane found herself rather surprised at
this, for she did not think a lady of quality such as Lady Borthwick
would express her emotions so very easily and so openly, given she
was in mixed company – some whom she knew and some she did
not. Indeed, this also did not fit with the conniving, selfish creature
Jane had heard so much about.
“You will see him before he returns to Eton, I hope?” Lord
Northwick asked, as Jane stirred her tea carefully, not wanting to
interrupt the conversation.
Lady Borthwick blinked rapidly, her faint smile growing a little.
“Yes, for a short while at least. I do miss him very much, but he is
being taught to grow into such a fine gentleman, so I cannot
complain. He will require a great deal of tutelage, since his father
is… no longer present to teach him such things.”
Something tore in Jane’s heart and she found herself murmuring
something she hoped would be comforting to the lady. Lady
Borthwick then turned her gaze towards Jane, and on seeing this,
Lady Farquhar quickly made the introductions. Jane smiled, rose,
dropped into a curtsy, and then sat back down, allowing the
conversation to continue on with her input – although Lord
Northwick was the one who spoke first.
“Do you intend to stay for the entirety of the house party, Lady
Borthwick?”
 There was something in his voice Jane had never heard before -
a lightness, perhaps? Undoubtedly something that spoke of pleasure
and delight. Her stomach twisted hard and she dropped her eyes to
the floor, suddenly finding herself completely disinterested in her
food although she could not give any explanation as to why.
“I have every intention of staying for as long as the house party
continues.” Lady Borthwick answered with a warm smile in Lord
Northwick’s direction. “And you, Lord Northwick. Do you have any
intention of staying here for the duration, or shall you take your
leave a little earlier?”
Lord Northwick grinned. “I have every plan to stay, Lady
Borthwick,” he answered, the warmth in his voice growing with every
word. “And with fine company such as yourself, I am sure this house
party will be all the more pleasurable.”
Without explanation, a flush begun began to rise up Jane’s neck,
and the heat continued to rise to the very top of her head. She could
not say where it had come from nor why it continued to burn
through to her very soul, but yet there it still remained. Could it be
she was jealous? Jealous that Lord Northwick seemed so pleased to
be in Lady Borthwick’s company, but not her own? Such a notion
would make very little sense, however, for she had no desire to be in
Lord Northwick’s company, nor did she want him to delight in her
presence.
“We have been playing many a parlor game,” Lady Farquhar
informed her. “There have been some forfeits given already!”
“Is that so?” Lady Borthwick laughed, her eyes suddenly
sparkling as Jane continued to watch the interplay, both frustrated
and intrigued in the very same measure. “I am sorry I have been
absent from these games!”
“It is all quite by chance, of course, as to who one receives a
forfeit from.” There was a new firmness to Lord Northwick’s tone,
forcing her gaze towards him. “Lady Meyrick was organizing a game
only last evening. By the end of the night, I received not one, but
two forfeits, although I was very fortunate indeed not to have my
face dusted with coal dust!”
 A ring of laughter ran around the table and Jane demanded her
lips curve into a smile, even though she had no inclination to do so.
Such remarks had been for her; she was sure of it. Lord Northwick
was attempting to make it quite clear he had done nothing by which
to garner a forfeit from her sister. Jane dropped her eyes back to the
table, a small sense of embarrassment rising. Despite what she had
said to him last evening, the truth was, she did not particularly like
the gentleman, and yet, for whatever reason, found herself
considering him all the more. Despite the fact she had never said
anything to him directly, Lord Northwick was making it quite clear he
had not done a single thing to encourage Lady Meyrick into giving
him a hint as to who had gone out of the room.
“It is all a game of chance, is it not?” she said, lifting her head
and looking directly at Lady Borthwick. Now was the time to speak
as directly as she could, to show she could be gracious enough to
accept she had been wrong to even think he had done such a thing.
Pressing her lips together, she looked toward Lord Northwick.
The gentleman’s eyes twinkled, a small smile lifting his mouth,
but it was Lady Borthwick who spoke.
“But you see, Miss Ainsley, in circumstances such as these and
with these sorts of parlor games, there is always trickery and
tomfoolery afoot! You may not believe it and mayhap, within the first
few games such a thing does not take place, but I can assure you
that come the end of the first sennight, there will be gentlemen
whispering into Lady Meyrick’s ear and she, of course, will be
delighted to oblige.”
Concern immediately began to fling itself into Jane’s mind. “What
do you mean?”
This time, both Lady Farquhar and Lady Borthwick shared a look,
laughing softly as they did so.
“Why, my dear Miss Ainsley, there are, at present, many merry
gentlemen eager to steal a kiss from a specific young lady,” Lady
Farquhar explained, her eyes twinkling. “And this is the way to get
such a thing! It is mayhap a little underhanded but at such times as
this, it is almost expected. You may find yourself the interest of a
particular gentleman, finding he has swapped forfeits with another
gentleman, simply so he might be in your company a little more.”
A blush mounted on Jane’s face and she could not, for whatever
reason, seem to look in Lord Northwick’s direction
“I can assure you, however, not all gentlemen will behave in such
a way,” she heard Lord Northwick say, but his words only brought
fresh laughter from the two other ladies.
“You are attempting to make out that you are quite the
honorable gentleman, are you not?” Lady Borthwick shook her head,
reaching across the table and pressing Lord Northwick’s arm. “Very
well. Let us pretend for the moment you are such a gentleman,
given that Miss Ainsley is present.”
Pushing herself out of her chair with a sudden urgency, no longer
able to listen to the conversation, no longer willing to hear another
word, Jane hurried to the door. Yes, she had known Lord Northwick
had a reputation – although it was certainly not as scandalous as
many of the gentlemen in London – but for whatever reason,
hearing this from these two ladies seemed to be more than she
could bear. “Excuse me. I think I should go to make certain my sister
has risen from her bed. I should not like her to miss this morning’s
activities.”
Lady Borthwick and Lady Farquhar did not seem to notice her
concern, for the latter gave her a wave, but continued to talk to
Lady Borthwick. Scurrying from the room and closing the door
behind her, Jane took a breath before beginning to walk down the
hallway.
Only for someone to call her name.
Glancing over her shoulder, she was astonished to see none
other than Lord Northwick following after her.
“Miss Ainsley.” Lord Northwick put out one hand, then pulled it
back sharply. “I wanted to assure you that, despite what was said by
Lady Borthwick, I have never been a gentleman who has ever taken
advantage of a young lady. I have never ruined a reputation, nor
caused a scandal, I can assure you.”
Jane considered this, looking into the depths of his eyes and
finding something within her beginning to grow into a slow-burning
fire, instead of the ice she usually felt forming around her heart
whenever she spoke with him.
“I see.” She did not say whether or not she believed him and
watched as Lord Northwick’s shoulders slumped a little.
“If you wish it, you may take your sister’s forfeit for yourself.”
Lifting his head so his eyes looked straight into hers, as if he wanted
to prove to her he meant every word simply by such a severe look,
he put out both hands. “If it would make you feel more at ease,
then I would be glad to do so. That way, you will have no lingering
concern. Otherwise, I can assure you I will ask her for nothing of
any seriousness.”
“You would give me my sister’s hairpin?” Her heart quickened a
little in surprise. “And you would do that only to prove yourself to
me?”
Lord Northwick held her gaze for a long moment as something
warm pooled in her stomach, speaking of relief and even happiness.
She considered him for a few moments. Would she accept her
sister’s trinket from Lord Northwick, knowing full well Bettina herself
would be very frustrated with her for doing so? But perhaps she
would be protecting her, would she not?
“Miss Ainsley?”
After some moments, Jane lifted her chin a little and cleared her
throat. Lord Northwick’s eyes were searching hers, as though he
were opening himself up, willing her to look into the depths of his
soul and find he was not wanting as she believed him to be.
“I should not like my sister to be irritated with me.” Taking a
breath, she lifted one shoulder lightly. “Truthfully, I would have liked
to accept your offer, but I believe Bettina would be a little angry with
me if I did as you offer, although I shall hold you to your word that
you will do nothing other than press a kiss to the back of her hand
or take a dance you favor.”
“But of course.” Lord Northwick nodded firmly, and much to
Jane’s astonishment, reached out one hand to touch her hand. He
took it for a moment, looking back into her face, and then, without
another word, stepped back and began to walk away. The touch of
his fingers against her own sent sparks zipping up her arm, her
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hurled upon the house of Judd. Standing for a moment in silence
and glowering upon them all in turn, the boy swung about with a
defiant gesture, stalked through the open door and out of the house.
Josiah Judd, whose heart was already sinking under the
responsibility of the crown jewels of a kingdom, experienced a
sickening collapse in the presence of the Oriental thunderbolt that
had just exploded on his peaceful New England hearthstone. His jaw
fell, he ceased rocking, and turned his eyes in painful inquiry upon
his guests.
There was an awkward silence. The General and the Prince had
risen to their feet as if in apology to the hostess, but she had
accepted the outburst with unruffled calmness. Her kind, restful,
homely face showed no annoyance. Rising quietly from the table she
followed the stormy guest and found him around in front of the
house, sitting upon the granite doorstep, his chin in his hands,
frowning fiercely upon the quaint old flower-garden before him. He
got up as she approached and stood a few feet away, regarding her
with a hostile scowl. Seating herself upon the step she said, with a
pleasant smile:
“Of course you are tired, sonny, we all understand that, and you are
unhappy to-day, but it won’t be for long.”
These assuring words failed of their purpose, and he eyed her
sidewise, and with suspicion. He was too old a bird to be fooled so
easily. A few sprigs were torn from the box border within his reach as
if the conversation bored him.
“I had a boy once,” continued Mrs. Judd. “I understand boys, and
know just how you feel. We shall be good friends, I’m sure.”
After a pause devoted to serious reflection, he inquired:
“Did your boy like you?”
“Oh, yes.”
He came nearer and stood in front of her. Then, slowly and with the
precision with which he always delivered himself when speaking
English, he said:
“My mother was different from you, and her clothes were more
beautiful, but if one boy liked you another might. I might. Would you
like to see my mother’s portrait?”
Mrs. Judd said she would like very much to see it, and he began
fumbling about and seemed to be tickling himself near the buckle of
his belt. But, as it proved, he was ascertaining the whereabouts of a
locket, which he finally fished up by means of a gold chain about his
neck. The chain was of such a length that the locket, instead of
reposing near the heart of the wearer, hung a little below the centre
of the stomach. When it finally emerged above his collar, he placed
the warm miniature in her hand, saying:
“That is my mother.”
It was a dark face, surmounted by a jewelled head-dress of a style
that Mrs. Judd had never seen, even in pictures. After looking more
carefully at the miniature and then up into the eyes that were
watching hers, she found the same square forehead and sensitive
mouth, and the same dark melancholy, heavily fringed eyes, by far
the most beautiful she had ever seen. The picture in her hand was a
truthful portrait of himself. As she looked from the portrait into the
face before her she felt it was perhaps fortunate this mother was
ignorant of the changes that already had turned the current of his
life. With a brown hand on each of her knees he was looking into her
eyes with the anxious gaze of a hungry soul, seeking for sympathy,
and too proud to ask it. But Mrs. Judd understood. She laid a hand
upon his shoulder with an expression upon her honest face that
rendered words unnecessary. He blinked and swallowed in a mighty
effort to suppress what he evidently considered an undignified and
compromising sentiment. But in vain. Sinking upon his knees he
buried his face in her lap and gave way to the most vehement,
uncontrollable grief. The small frame shook with sobs, while her
apron grew wet with tears. He took his sorrow with the same
passionate recklessness that characterized his anger at the dinner-
table. Mrs. Judd rested her hand upon the short black hair and tried
to summon words of solace for a grief that seemed to threaten the
integrity of his earthly body. She could only stroke his head and tell
him not to be unhappy; that all would end well; that he should soon
return home.
In the midst of these efforts the voice of Mr. Judd came around the
corner calling out that the wagon was here. The boy jumped to his
feet as if he had received a shock. Drawing the sleeve of his jacket
across his tear-stained face, he summoned an expression of severity
and indifference that under other circumstances would have forced a
smile from his newly acquired friend. The soldier was himself again;
the warrior was on parade. As they walked together around the
house to the dining-room, he beside her with a resolute step and
chin in the air, she wondered what manner of training could have
taught him at the age of seven to suppress all boyish emotions, and
put on at will the dignity of a Roman Senator.
The General and the Prince were awaiting them. With many
compliments they thanked the host and hostess for their hospitality,
and regretted the necessity that took them away in such unfortunate
haste; it was a flying trip and their absence must not be lengthened
by an hour, as these were troublous times in their part of India. As
they moved toward the wagon Mrs. Judd held her husband back,
believing there might be a parting at which strangers would not be
welcome. But the parting, like all else, was dignified and
ceremonious. She could not see the boy’s face, for he stood with his
back toward her, but as far as she could judge he also was calm and
self-possessed. She noticed, however, that the General had to
swallow, with a sudden gulp, a large portion of what appeared to be
a carefully constructed sentence.
They drove in silence down the long avenue beneath the maples,
and the driver, perhaps to put them at their ease, said something
about getting along faster in this light wagon than with the stage, but
both his passengers seemed in a silent mood and made no answer.
As they turned into the main road the General, who was on the side
nearest the house, looked back. At the farther end of the avenue
stood the boy in the same position, still watching them. The old
soldier brought his hand to his hat and down again in a military
salute that was evidently familiar to the little person at the farther end
of the driveway, for it was promptly acknowledged, and although a
farewell to the last ties between himself and his country, was
returned with head erect, as from one veteran to another.
 II
TWENTY years have passed.
The corner mansion of the Van Koovers is ablaze with light. Long
rows of carriages surmounted by sleepy coachmen extend along
Madison Avenue and into the neighboring street. The temporary
awning from the front door to the curbstone serves only to shield the
coming and departing guest from the gaze of heaven, for the moon
and stars are shining brightly, as if they also would like to enter. But
when the front door opens, which is frequent, it emits a blast of
music, taunting and defiant, reminding the outside universe of its
plebeian origin.
Inside there is a scene of festivity and splendor, of dazzling gayety,
of youth and mirth and decorous joy. The opulence of the Van
Koovers is of sanctifying solidity, and when they give a ball they do it
in a style to be remembered. The house itself, with its sumptuous
furniture, its magnificent ceilings and stately dimensions is
sufficiently impressive in every-day attire, but to-night it reminds you
of the Arabian Tales. The family portraits, the gracious dignity of the
host and hostess, the bearing of the servants, all speak of pedigree
and hereditary honors.
Roses and violets, in lavish profusion, fill every corner, are festooned
around doors and windows, even along the walls and up the stairs,
their perfume mingling with the music. And the music, dreamy yet
voluminous, sways hither and thither a sea of maidens with snowy
necks and shimmering jewels, floating gracefully about in the arms of
anxious youths. These youths, although unspeakably happy, wear
upon their faces, as is usual upon such occasions, an expression of
corroding care.
As a waltz came to an end, a tall, light-haired girl with crimson roses
in her dress, dropped into a seat. She fanned herself rapidly as if to
drive away a most becoming color that had taken possession of her
cheeks. Her breath came quickly, the string of pearls upon her neck
rising and falling as if sharing in the general joy. With her long throat,
her well-poised head, and a certain dignity of unconscious pride she
might be described as old-fashioned from her resemblance to a
favorite type in the portraits of a century ago. Perhaps her prettiest
feature was the low, wide forehead about which the hair seemed to
advance and recede in exceptionally graceful lines. Her charm to
those who know her but superficially was in her voice and manner, in
the frankness of her eyes, and, above all perhaps, in that all-
conquering charm, a total absence of self-consciousness. But
whatever the reason, no girl in the room received more attention.
Her partner, a sculptor with a bald head and a reputation, took the
chair beside her. As her eyes wandered carelessly about the room
she inquired, in an indifferent tone: “Who is that swarthy youth
talking with Julia Bancroft?”
“I don’t know. He looks like a foreigner.” Then he added, with more
interest, “But isn’t he a beauty!”
“Yes, his features are good.”
“He is an Oriental of some sort, and doesn’t quite harmonize with a
claw-hammer coat. He should wear an emerald-green nightcap with
a ruby in the centre, about the size of a hen’s egg, a yellow dressing-
gown and white satin trousers, all copiously sprinkled with
diamonds.”
She smiled. “Yes, and he might be interesting if he were not quite so
handsome; but here he comes!”
The youth in question, as he came down the room and passed them,
seemed to be having a jolly time with his companion and he failed to
notice the two people who were discussing him. It was a boyish face
notwithstanding the regular features and square jaw, and at the
present moment it wore a smile that betrayed the most intense
amusement. When he was well out of hearing, the sculptor
exclaimed: “He is the most artistic thing I ever saw! The lines of his
eyes and nose are superb! And what a chin! I should like to own
him!”
“You couldn’t eat him.”
“No, but I could put him on exhibition at five dollars a ticket. Every
girl in New York would be there; you among them.”
Miss Cabot appeared to consider. “I am not so sure. He probably is
much less interesting than he looks. Handsome males over three
years of age are the deadliest bores in life; sculptors of course
excepted.”
“It does seem to be a kind of prosperity the human male is unable to
support without impairment.” Then addressing a blasé young man
lounging wearily by:
“Horace, do you know who that is talking with Miss Bancroft?”
Horace, a round-shouldered blond whose high collar seemed to
force his chin, not upward, but outward horizontally, fingered the
ends of a frail mustache and asked:
“You mean that pigeon-toed fellow with the dark face?”
Miss Cabot could not help laughing. “There’s a summing up of your
beauty,” she exclaimed, turning to the sculptor.
He smiled as he answered: “It is evident you are an admirer. But do
you know who he is?”
“Yes, I know him.”
“Well, what is it? A Hindu prince, a Persian poet, or a simple corsair
of the Adriatic?”
“He is a Connecticut farmer.”
“Never!”
“And his name is Judd—Amos Judd.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed Miss Cabot. “What a come down! We hoped he
was something more unusual than that.”
“Well, he is more unusual than that. He is a paralyzer of the female
heart. I knew him in college. At dances and parties we were
generally sure to find him tucked away on the stairs or out on a
porch with the prettiest girl of the ball, and he looked so much like an
Oriental prince we used to call him the Bellehugger of Spoonmore.”
“Disgusting!”
“But that is a trifling and unimportant detail of his character, Miss
Cabot, and conveys a cold impression of Mr. Judd’s experiences.
Don Giovanni was a puritanical prig in comparison. Then at college
he had the bad taste to murder a classmate.”
Miss Cabot looked up in horror.
“But then he had his virtues. He could drink more without showing it
than any fellow in college, and he was the richest man in his class.”
“Oh, come now, Horace,” said the sculptor, “you are evidently a good
friend of his, but your desire to do him a good turn may be carrying
you beyond the limits of—how shall I say it?”
“You mean that I am lying.”
“Well, that is the rough idea.”
Horace smiled. “No, I am not lying. It is all true,” and he passed
wearily on.
It was not many minutes before Molly Cabot was again moving over
the floor, this time with the son of the house. Stephen Van Koover
was one of those unfortunates whose mental outfit qualified him for
something better than the career of clothes and conversation to
which he was doomed by the family wealth.
“This recalls old times. Isn’t it three or four years since we have
danced together?” he asked. “Or is it three or four hundred?”
“Thank you! I am glad you realize what you have missed.”
“You do dance like an angel, Miss Molly, and it’s a sin to squander
such talent on me. I wish you would try it with Judd; my sisters say
his dancing is a revelation.”
“Judd, the murderer?”
“Who told you that?”
“Horace Bennett.”
“I might have guessed it. Truth and Horace were never chums. Judd
bears the same relation to Horace as sunshine to a damp cellar.”
As the music ceased they strolled to a little divan at the end of the
room.
“He did kill a man, a classmate, but he had the sympathies of his
entire class. It was partly an accident, anyway.”
“I am glad for his sake, as there seems to be a prejudice against
murder.”
“This was a little of both. We were having a supper, about twenty of
us, just before class-day. After the supper, when we were all a trifle
hilarious, Slade came up behind Judd and poured some wine down
his neck. Judd faced about; then Slade made a mock apology, and
added an insulting speech. He was a master in that sort of thing, and
while doing it he emptied his wineglass into Judd’s face. Now Judd is
overweighted with a peculiar kind of Oriental pride, and also with an
unfortunate temper; not a bad temper, but a sudden, unreliable,
cyclonic affair, that carries the owner with it, generally faster than is
necessary, and sometimes a great deal farther. Now Slade knew all
this, and as he was an all-around athlete and the heavier man, there
was no doubt in our minds that he meant Judd should strike out, and
then he would have some fun with him.
“Well, Judd grew as black as a thundercloud, but he kept his temper.
His hand shook as he wiped his face with his handkerchief and
quietly turned his back upon him. Then it was that the other man
made the crowning error of his life. He was just enough of a bully to
misunderstand Judd’s decent behavior, and his contempt was so
great for one who could accept such an indignity that he kicked him.
Judd wheeled about, seized him by the throat and banged his head
against the wall with a force and fury that sobered every fellow in the
room. Close beside them was an open window reaching to the floor,
with a low iron railing outside. Judd, half lifting him from the floor,
sent him flying through this window, and over the balcony.”
“Gracious! Was he dead from the blows on his head?”
“No, but a blow awaited him outside that would have finished an ox.
This window was about thirteen feet from the ground, and below it
stood a granite hitching post. When Slade came down like a diver
from a boat and struck head foremost against the top of this post
something was sure to suffer, and the granite post is there to-day,
with no signs of injury.”
“How can you speak of it in such a tone!”
“Well, I am afraid none of us had a deep affection for the victim. And
then Judd was so refreshingly honest! He said he was glad Slade
was dead; that the world would be better if all such men were out of
it, and refused to go to the funeral or to wear the usual class
mourning.”
“Which was in disgustingly bad taste!”
“Possibly, but uncommonly honest. And then it is hardly fair to judge
him by our standards. He is built of foreign material, and he had
received something that it was simply not in his nature to forgive.”
Their voices were drowned in the music that again filled the room.
The dance over, they sauntered out into the large hall, where
Flemish and Italian tapestries formed an opulent harmony with Van
Koover portraits. In the air of this apartment one breathed the
ancestral repose that speaks of princely origin. It was not intended,
however, that this atmosphere should recall the founder of the house
who, but four generations ago, was peddling knick-knacks along the
Bowery.
As Miss Cabot was uncomfortably warm and suggested a cooler air
he led her to the farther end of the long hall, beyond the stairs, and
halted at the entrance of a conservatory.
“Delicious!” and she inhaled a long breath of the fresh, moist air.
“Wait for me just a moment, and I will bring you the glass of water,”
and he vanished.
An inviting obscurity pervaded this conservatory, which, like the rest
of the Van Koover mansion, was spacious and impressive. At the
farther end, the gloom was picturesquely broken by rays of
moonlight slanting through the lofty windows. The only living
occupants seemed to be one or two pairs of invisible lovers, whose
voices were faintly audible above the splashing of the little fountain
in the centre. This busy fountain formed a discreet accompaniment
to the flirtations in the surrounding shrubbery. Stepping to the side of
the basin, she stood for a moment looking down into its diminutive
depths. The falling water and the distant music formed a soothing
melody, and a welcome restfulness stole gently upon her senses as
she inhaled, with the fragrance of the tropics, the peace and poetry
of a summer night. She stood for a moment yielding to a gentle
enchantment; it seemed a different world, apart from the great city in
which she lived, a world of flowers, and perfumes, of fountains and
perpetual music; of moonlight and of whispering lovers.
At last, as if waking from a dream, the girl raised her head and
looked toward the windows beyond, where a flood of moonlight
illumined deep masses of exotic foliage, repeating them in fantastic
shadows on the marble floor. Walking slowly from the fountain, she
lingered between the overhanging palms, then stepped into the
moonbeams, a radiant figure with her bare neck and arms and
glistening jewels in this full white light, against the gloom of the
conservatory. The diamonds in the crescent above her forehead
flashed as if quivering into life as she stopped and looked up at the
planet.
A figure close beside her, that had formed part of the surrounding
shadow, started back with a suddenness that caused her, also, to
retreat a step and press a hand to her heart. It was more from
nervousness than fear, as she was simply startled. She at once
recovered herself, ashamed at being taken off her guard, but a
glance at the man beside her, whose face was now also in the light,
filled her with a fresh surprise. It was the Oriental beauty; the
murderer, Judd, and the intensity of his expression almost frightened
her. His eyes were fixed upon her own in speechless wonder, and as
they moved to the crescent in her hair, then back again to her face,
they showed both terror and astonishment. Yet it seemed a look of
recognition, for he bent eagerly forward, as if to make sure he were
not mistaken.
It was all in an instant. Then, with a step backward and an inclination
of the head, he stammered:
“I beg your pardon. I—I was startled. Pray forgive me.”
He gave an arm to his companion, a pretty girl in pink who, standing
behind him, had missed the details of the little scene, and they
walked away among the plants and out of the conservatory.
Later in the evening, as Miss Cabot stood near the door of the ball-
room, the girl with whom she was speaking introduced a friend, and
she found herself again in the presence of the Connecticut farmer,
the young man of the moonlight. But this time he wore a very
different expression from that of the conservatory. There was a
pleasant smile on the dark and somewhat boyish face as he
apologized for the scene among the plants. “I am sorry if it annoyed
you, but I was startled by an unexpected resemblance.”
She looked into his eyes as he spoke, and understood why the
sculptor should have been enthusiastic over such a face. It was of an
unfamiliar type, and bore a curious resemblance to those she had
attributed as a child to the heroes of her imagination. The eyes were
long, dark, and seemed capable of any quantity of expression, either
good or bad. Miss Cabot was uncertain as to whether they pleased
her. At present they looked somewhat anxiously into her own with a
touch of misgiving. Nevertheless, she felt that he was telling her only
a portion of the truth.
 “I beg your pardon, I—I was startled”
“If it is my misfortune to startle unsuspecting guests when I come
upon them without notice, it is for me to apologize. No,” then
continuing hastily, as he began a protestation: “You needn’t explain!
Do not trouble yourself to tell me that only the most disturbing types
of beauty cause you just that kind of a shock.”
“But why not, if it is the truth? Besides, as you stepped out into the
moonlight you were a blinding apparition, all in white, against the
darkness behind. I have no doubt the moon herself was a little
startled.”
“You certainly were less happy in concealing your agitation than the
—other victim.”
Although his manner was deferential and gave indications of a
positive but discreetly repressed admiration, she felt ill at ease with
him. It was impossible to forget his repulsive title, and turning partly
away she looked over the room, and answered:
“Since you are completely recovered and my apology is accepted, I
suppose there is nothing more to be done.”
As the words were uttered the opening strains of a waltz came
floating across the hall, and he begged that she give him a dance in
token of absolution. It was easier to grant it than to refuse, and in
another moment they were gliding over the floor. As they moved
away she experienced a new sensation. This partner, while adapting
himself to her own movements, carried her with a gentle force that
relieved her of all volition. While, in effect, borne up and along by the
music, she was governed by a pressure that was hardly perceptible;
yet, at a critical instant, when a reckless dancer came plunging
toward them, she felt herself swung lightly from his path, to relapse
at once into a tranquil security and float peacefully away. This
floating with the music was so easy, so very drowsy and relaxing,
that her consciousness almost drifted with the rhythm of the waltz.
Once, as her eyes were uplifted to the gorgeous frieze, the white-
winged Cupids that a moment before were lolling idly against the
blue and gold background seemed now to be keeping time with the
music, swaying and dancing in their irresponsible nakedness.
Miss Cabot was surprised when the music ceased and at once
regretted having danced such a length of time with a stranger of
unsavory reputation. As they left the ball-room and entered the
ancestral hall she was flushed and out of breath, endeavoring with
one hand to replace a lock of hair that had fallen about her neck.
“It’s a shame,” he muttered.
“What? That we danced so long?”
“Oh, no! That it should ever end!”
They looked about for a resting-place, but all were occupied. Girls in
pink, in white, in pale blue, in delicate yellow, in every color that was
becoming to their individual beauty, or to its absence, were clustered
about the great hall, filling every seat. Around them, like bees in a
flower-garden, hovered men in black.
“There is our chance,” he said, pointing to the stairs. Upon the first
landing, but three steps from the floor, there was a semicircular
recess along whose wall ran a cushioned seat. At the entrance, upon
a pedestal of Sienna marble, sat a Cupid with a finger upon his lips;
a bit of ancient sculpture from a Roman temple. Behind him, within,
an inviting gloom suggested repose and silence. As they stepped
upon the tiger-skin that nearly covered the landing, Miss Cabot was
accosted by a man whose thoughtful face brightened up at the
meeting. When he glanced at her companion there was a similar
welcome, and they called each other John and Amos, and appeared
to be on intimate terms. After a short conversation he left them and
descended into the hall. She was puzzled at the friendship of these
two men, and wondered what there could possibly be in common
between a promising clergyman of exceptional purity of character
and this dissolute, hot-headed Judd. As they seated themselves in
the alcove, she said, in a tone of surprise:
“So you and John Harding are friends!”
He smiled. “Yes; and I lament your astonishment.”
She blushed at her stupid betrayal of the thought, while he made no
effort to conceal his amusement.
“It may be an unkind thing to say of him, but we have been good
friends for several years.”
Laying her fan in her lap, she devoted both hands to the wandering
lock. “Is that what drove him to the church?”
“No. For that I am not responsible, thank Heaven!”
“Why thank Heaven? Is there any harm in being a clergyman?”
“It depends on the man. In this case it certainly seems a waste of
good material.”
Now, it happened that Molly Cabot’s religious convictions were
deeply rooted, and she felt a thrill of indignation at this slur upon a
sacred calling. Of course, it was not surprising that a spoiled youth
with a murderous temper should prove an atheist and a scoffer, but
she was irritated, and instinctively took the field as the champion of a
righteous cause.
“Then you consider it a waste of good material for an honest man to
serve the church?”
Her energy surprised him, but he answered, pleasantly: “I do not say
that. No one is too good for any honest work. I only say that a man of
John Harding’s originality and courage puts himself in a false
position by so doing.”
“I do not see how,” and her eyes were fixed upon his own in open
hostility. He still smiled serenely and met her glance with provoking
calmness.
“Well, at present he is young and full of enthusiasm, believing
everything, and more besides; but he is only twenty-seven now and
will do a heap of thinking before he is forty. The pathetic part of it is
that he binds himself to a creed, and the man who can think for
thirteen years on any subject without modifying his faith ought to be
in a museum.”
“Not if it is the true faith.”
“If it is the true faith, there is danger in thinking, as he may think
away from it; so why waste a brain like Harding’s?”
In spite of a certain deference and gentleness of tone with which he
uttered these positive sentiments there was evident enjoyment in the
shock they created. While he was speaking she noticed in the centre
of his forehead a faint scar about the size of a thimble end. It
seemed an evanescent mark, only visible when he turned his face at
certain angles with the light, and suggested the thought that if all
young men of such opinions were marked in a similar manner it
might serve as a wholesome warning to unbelievers.
She looked down at her fan a moment, then answered, very quietly:
“So all clergymen over forty are either hypocrites or fools. It must be
very satisfying to entertain a thorough contempt for so large a
profession.”
“Oh, don’t say contempt. Rather an excess of sympathy for the
unfortunate.”
At that moment Horace Bennett, in ascending the stairs, stopped for
an instant upon the landing and stood facing them. His eyes rested
upon herself and Mr. Judd, then she saw him glance at the marble
Cupid who, with his finger to his lips, seemed acting as a sentinel for
whatever lovers were within. Then he pulled the ends of his
miserable little mustache, and with a half-suppressed smile muttered
something to his companion, and they passed up the stairs. The hot
blood flew to her cheeks as she recalled what he had said earlier in
the evening of this man beside her: “We were sure to find him tucked
away on the stairs or out on the porch with a girl. So we called him
the Bellehugger of Spoonmore.”
Never in her life had she felt so degraded, so cheapened in her own
esteem. Hot, cold, with burning cheeks, and tears of mortification in
her eyes she rose from her seat, pressing a handkerchief against her
lips, and stepped swiftly out upon the landing and down into the hall.
Mr. Judd followed and inquired anxiously if she were ill; could he do
anything? His solicitude, which was genuine, caused her to realize
how extraordinary her behavior must appear to him. The close air in
the alcove, she answered coldly, must have affected her. It was only
a little dizziness.
To her great relief a young man came hurrying up, and exclaimed:
“I have been looking everywhere for you, Miss Cabot! The cotillion is
on!”
A formal nod to Mr. Judd, and she moved away with an unuttered
prayer that their paths in future might be far apart. Her wish was
granted, at least for that night, for she saw him no more at the Van
Koovers’.
When she reached home and entered her own chamber, the
moonlight was streaming into the room, and before turning up the
lights she had the curiosity to stand near the window with a hand-
glass and study her own reflection. Only the usual face was there,
and as usual, the nose was too short, the chin too long, and all the
other defects were present; but even in the moonlight they seemed
hardly sufficient to frighten a strong young man.
 III
A FIRST interview with the Hon. J. W. Cabot, senior member of the
firm of Cabot, Hollingsworth & Perry, generally resulted in a belief
that this distinguished lawyer was a severe, unsympathetic man
whose dignity, under ordinary pressure, was not likely to abate. An
abundant crop of short gray hair covered a square, well-shaped
head; a head that seemed hard and strong. His forehead, his jaw,
and his shoulders were also square, and they also seemed hard and
strong.
His manner was cold, his voice firm and even, and he was never
ruffled. The cool gray eyes rested calmly upon you as if screening,
out of consideration for your own fallacious knowledge, the
profundity of wisdom that reposed behind them. His memory seemed
infallible. The extent and accuracy of his legal knowledge was a
perpetual surprise, even to his partners. For simplifying complex
entanglements his clearness and rapidity amounted to a genius. His
fees were colossal. In short, he seemed just the man who would
never write such a note as this:
TOWHEAD:
I Shall bring an old friend to dinner to-night.
Don’t give us rubber olives or shad of last year’s vintage.
He is not a bric-à-brac shop.
Jimsey.
This document was sent to his daughter, who since her mother’s
death, three years ago, had managed the household. When a child
of five she overheard a friend address him frequently as Jim,
whereupon she adjusted a final syllable to render it less formal, and
ever after continued to use it.
It was an afternoon in March that this note arrived, nearly four
months after the ball at the Van Koovers’, and when, an hour or two
later, her father presented his old friend, Mr. Samuel Fettiplace, she
was struck by his enormous frame and by the extraordinary color of
his face. This color, a blazing, resplendent red, not only occupied his
nose and cheeks, but extended, in quieter tones, over his forehead
and neck, even to the bald spot upon the top of his head. It had
every appearance of being that expensive decoration that can only
be procured by a prolonged and conscientious indulgence in the
choicest Burgundies.
His large, round, light-blue eyes were all the bluer from their crimson
setting. A more honest pair she had never seen. These, with his
silver hair and benevolent forehead, gave the impression of a
pleasantly intemperate bishop. Molly Cabot well knew that her father,
and especially her mother, could never have achieved a warm and
lasting friendship for one whose habits were honestly represented by
such compromising colors.
With old-fashioned courtesy he gave her his arm into the dining-
room, and as they seated themselves at table he said: “You look like
your mother, Miss Molly, and I am glad of it; the same forehead and
eyes, and the same kind expression. I was afraid when I saw you
last you were going to look like your father. He isn’t so bad looking,
considering the life he has led, but it would be a calamitous thing for
a well-meaning girl to resemble any lawyer.”
She laughed: “But papa is not as bad as he looks, you know.”
“Yes, he is; I have known him longer than you have. But there seem
to be honors in dishonor. During these years that I have been trotting
about the globe he has been climbing higher and higher, until now
his legs are dangling from the topmost round. Why, I understand that
none but the solidest billionaires and the fattest monopolies presume
to retain him.”
“I am afraid someone took you for a hay-seed, Sam, and has been
stuffing you.”